


Dirty

by herinfiniteeyes



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-29
Updated: 2011-09-29
Packaged: 2017-10-24 03:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/258696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herinfiniteeyes/pseuds/herinfiniteeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I suck at titles. Written for this prompt on the kink meme: Eames likes dirty talk in bed, calling Arthur his slut/whore. Arthur tries to pretend it doesn't bother him, but he should know better then to try and hide his feelings from a forger.<br/>(Self conscious/embarrassed Arthur.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dirty

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted here: http://inception-kink.livejournal.com/19632.html?thread=46392752#t46392752

_This is what happens the first time Eames and Arthur have sex..._

“God, you're so fucking gorgeous,” Eames murmurs into Arthur's neck. They're both on the bed in Arthur's hotel room in Paris, a week into the Fischer job. Eames has Arthur pressed into the mattress beneath him, but he doesn't mind not being able to breathe very well because he's been wanting to get under Eames for some time now.

The breaking point between Arthur's steadfast refusal to admit to his attraction for Eames and this moment in time, with Eames' hips between his thighs and Eames' hand working its way into the open front of his trousers, comes when Eames returns fresh off his flight from Sydney in an honest-to-god suit. Not just any suit, but one so perfectly tailored to Eames' impressive body that Arthur can't help but swallow hard and stare.

Of course, Eames being Eames, notices Arthur's reaction right away. It doesn't take long before Arthur is shutting down his computer and shoving files into his briefcase in a completely disorganized fashion so that he can get away from those knowing eyes, but Eames follows him back to the hotel anyway.

It's only a matter of minutes before Arthur's flat on his back with Eames looming above him, surrounding him, making him _jesusfuckwant_.

Eames strips Arthur slowly and methodically, which is unexpected and almost laughable because Arthur can't seem to tear at Eames' clothes fast enough to get him naked. He wants skin on skin, he wants to smell and touch and taste the brilliant, fucking hot man above him.

Once they're naked, Eames palms Arthur's cock and strokes it with a dry hand. The friction's almost too much, too uncomfortable, but the slight edge of discomfort only makes his arousal spike higher. He wraps his legs around Eames' waist and claws at his back as Eames' mouth and tongue do wet, filthy things to his neck. “Wanted you like this for ages,” Eames moans into Arthur's collarbone.

Arthur's not usually one for vocal sex, but he could get used to hearing things like that from Eames. He likes hearing such appreciative words spilling from the other man's mouth.

Some time later, when Eames is the one flat on his back and Arthur's fully seated on his cock, Eames grabs his hips and locks eyes on him. “ _Fuck_ , yessss...ride me, baby,” Eames says just before Arthur comes.

Maybe that should have been the first sign.

 

The next morning, Eames is ordering breakfast from room service and insisting Arthur stay in bed, soft and wet and open. Arthur doesn't mind _per se_ , but he's never been like this with anyone. His sex life began in high school with awkward, secretive fumbling in broom closets and the woods behind school. After that, he couldn't risk having sex because he was in the military and he'd decided he'd rather be celibate than get kicked out just because he likes dick. Loves it, in fact. But that's all it's ever really been...either he has awkward sex, or he doesn't have sex at all. On the occasions he gives in to the need, it usually results in a quick and borderline unsatisfying transaction between himself and a random person from a bar. There aren't any mornings after, or breakfasts, or warm, goofy smiles.

That is, until now. Sex with Eames isn't awkward in the slightest. It's fucking _fantastic_. Arthur hasn't come so many times in one night ever. _Ever_.

In light of that, it's a little bit excusable if Arthur chooses to let Eames keep him in bed until Cobb calls to demand his presence at the warehouse. Even after that, they slowly get ready for the day. The shower is hot and wet, just like Eames' mouth when he falls to his knees to take Arthur into his mouth.

They take their time getting dressed, and when Eames straightens Arthur's tie with a wink and a light kiss on his lips before they walk out the door, Arthur thinks maybe he's a little bit in love.

 

The next time Arthur and Eames are alone together doesn't happen for a couple weeks because the job gets in the way. Arthur has to satisfy himself with a quick blowjob, likely ruining his trousers by getting down on his knees in the warehouse's only bathroom. Eames watches him with dark eyes while he viciously bites his lip to keep from making any noise, because Arthur tells him in no uncertain terms that he _will_ leave Eames unsatisfied if he alerts the rest of the team to their current activities.

After he swallows, he stands up and goes to the sink to fix his hair and make sure there's no come lingering on his face. He'd been prepared to return to work and ignore his insistent erection, but the sight of his swollen red lips sends something hot and undeniable straight to his cock. He casts a quick glance over his shoulder to see Eames straightening himself up before he turns back and opens his zipper. He's stroking himself quickly and efficiently when he sees and feels Eames come up behind him. He watches in the mirror as Eames slides one arm around his waist and slips the other arm down to lay a restraining hand over Arthur's. “Let me,” he murmurs huskily.

Arthur relinquishes his hold on his dick and lets Eames take over. With both the feel and visual of Eames working him over, it isn't long until Arthur feels his balls tighten. He bites off a choking noise and presses back against Eames' chest as his hips jerk forward.

He's on the brink when Eames starts to talk.

“Fuck me, you're so hot, Arthur. I could just bend you over this sink and fuck your arse so hard that you won't be able to sit in that little chair of yours for the rest of the day. I can't wait to feel you coming around my cock again. Come on, Arthur, come on...come for me. I know you want to, let me see you come all over my hand like the dirty little boy you are,” Eames whispers harshly in his ear.

Arthur comes, but part of his mind is stuck wondering if Eames even knew what he was saying, because Arthur had never given any indication that he likes that sort of thing.

 

After that, the job wraps up and they're forced to part ways at LAX for the sake of flying under the radar until they're sure the job worked. The last thing Arthur wants is to get caught by a displeased Saito while Eames is fucking him on a hotel bed somewhere.

So he grabs his suitcase and resigns himself to celibacy for the time being. Eames meets his gaze and nods discreetly. If Arthur notices the heat in his eyes, well, he forces himself to ignore it. Eyes on the prize, and all that.

 

It's a month after the Fischer job, and Arthur is sitting in one of his various apartments cleaning his gun. He has the parts spread out on a towel in front of him and a glass of wine at his elbow. The bottle is almost empty.

Arthur's always known he's a bit of a slut when it comes to sex. He never sleeps around, exactly, but once he has sex, his libido goes into overdrive. Once the sex stops, he has to force his libido back into hibernation. That's why he doesn't have many one night stands.

So it's painfully obvious to him that he either needs to call Eames, or he'll soon run out of lotion. As it is, he's already rubbed himself raw in an attempt to keep radio silence instead of doing what he really wants to do...which is call Eames and beg him to come fuck him.

He's keeping busy, though. Yes, he is. He runs four miles every morning, rain or shine. His apartment is spotless. Last week, he planted a new herb garden in the planter boxes on his balcony. Tomorrow he plans on building new shelves for his rare book collection. He's in the process of cleaning every gun he owns, as well as organizing his cabinets. The bathroom and kitchen have never been so uncluttered.

He polishes off the wine and sets down his reassembled gun to get up and throw the empty bottle in the recycle bin. He curses under his breath when he sees how full the blue tub is...full of empty wine and liquor bottles. He's starting to wonder if he has a drinking problem, but then he thinks of how it felt to have Eames all over him, and he reaches for another bottle. Maybe another one before bed won't hurt.

 

The next morning, he wakes up with a pounding head and what feels like a carpet in the place of his tongue. He tries to sit up, but the room spins a bit. He thinks maybe he'll just stay in bed today, seeing as how he doesn't have anything better to do.

He bites off a pitiful groan when he hears his front door open and close with no apparent effort at stealth. He has his gun in hand before he even fully registers the sound of cheerful whistling and a rustle of...plastic grocery bags?

Okay, so someone's breaking in to, what, fill up his fridge with food? That can't be –

“Oi, I see you're awake,” Eames says as he appears in the bedroom doorway wearing a huge grin.

Arthur shoots him a sleepy scowl. “What are you doing here?” he asks in a raspy voice.

Eames walks farther into the bedroom until he's standing at the foot of the bed. He reaches out to run a hand through Arthur's messy curls. “I wanted to see you,” he says simply.

There's a slow glow of pleasure in the pit of Arthur's stomach at Eames' words, but he hides it because...well, because. He's not sure it's like _that_ between them, at least not yet. “I'm gonna shower,” he mumbles.

Eames flops down on the bed and watches Arthur walk to the bathroom naked. “Need a hand?” he calls out cheerfully.

Arthur sticks his middle finger out the door and shuts (and locks) it behind him. After so much wine on an empty stomach last night, he feels half alive. He needs a scalding hot shower, a gallon of Listerine, and some dry toast before he can face the day.

His plan for reviving himself falls by the wayside when he emerges from the bathroom to see Eames sprawled out on his bed. He has Arthur's bedside table drawer open.

“I've killed men for less,” he says as he walks back into the room.

Eames grins lasciviously and holds up a large green dildo. “Darling, I'm impressed.”

Arthur sighs and reaches out to snatch it away from him, but Eames pulls it back toward himself and Arthur loses his balance, causing him to fall onto the bed. He spits out a mouthful of comforter and glares at Eames. “Ever hear of privacy, you dick?”

Eames drops the dildo next to Arthur's head and strokes a warm, callused hand over his bare shoulders. “Don't be coy, Arthur. I know you love my dick,” he purrs.

Arthur would scoff...if he wasn't so right. Damn. “We're having sex.”

Eames blinks. “What, now?”

“Now. Take your pants off.”

Arthur sits back on his heels and watches Eames scramble to unzip and kick off his pants. He's already half-hard and he can see that Eames is quickly catching up to him. “Now your shirt,” he says as he reaches out to grab the bottle of lube from the bedside table. Eames must have put it there while he was digging around like the nosy asshole he is.

Once Eames is naked, Arthur crawls into his lap and just takes a moment to rub his bare skin against Eames'. This is one of his favorite things about sex...the excitement of skin against skin, the anticipation that builds between two people when they both know for certain where their actions will lead them. He wraps his arms around Eames' neck and bends his head down to nip along the strong neck in front of him. Eames hums his encouragement, so Arthur takes his time. He rubs his lips across Eames' collarbones, lets his fingertips drift up and down along his spine, ghosts his breath up behind Eames' ears. He's like a cat, just rubbing himself against Eames out of pure enjoyment.

He loves the little sounds Eames makes. He laps them up with his lips and tongue and swallows them down like a delicious dessert. He's not even aware of the way his hips are moving in slow circles, rubbing his leaking erection against Eames' desperately hard cock. “Arthur,” Eames says weakly, “Arthur, I _needtobeinsideofyou_.”

Arthur nips along Eames' jaw as he presses the bottle of lube into Eames' hand. “Get me ready,” he murmurs. He doesn't stop licking, kissing, and biting at every inch of Eames' exposed flesh as Eames works him open.

Once he's ready, Arthur steals the lube and pours a generous amount into the palm of his hand. Eames watches him with hooded eyes and swollen lips, and Arthur makes a show of slicking up Eames' dick. Eames twitches away after a moment and lifts Arthur up in an impressive show of strength that has Arthur feeling a little weak in the knees. After Eames positions himself at Arthur's entrance, he releases Arthur's hips and lets him slide down until he's fully seated. Arthur bites his lip and hisses, and Eames buries his hot face in Arthur's neck. “ _Fuck_ , that feels so good,” Eames whispers into his neck.

Arthur starts to move, grinding himself on Eames and licking deep, filthy kisses into his mouth. He's loving this, fucking _loving_ this, and he never wants it to stop –

“Yeah, baby, _fuck_ , yeah, just like that...” Eames moans.

Arthur freezes up for a split second, but relaxes when Eames doesn't say anything more, just moans and pants into Arthur's shoulder. He starts moving again, a little bit unsure until Eames grips his hips and tries to set a steady rhythm. He can feel his orgasm starting to build up –

“Mmm, did you think about my cock all this time? I thought about your pretty little arse every day...how I wanted to spread you out, stretch you on my fingers, fill you with my cock and lick my come out of your little abused hole...all the sounds you'd make, so slutty for my cock --”

Arthur pushes himself off Eames and rolls off the bed. He stalks out of the bedroom without a backward glance, even though Eames is calling out to him incredulously. “Arthur? Wait, Arthur! What? What just happened?”

He finds himself in the kitchen, so he grabs a glass and fills it with tap water just for something to do. When he hears Eames' footsteps padding up behind him. Warm, solid arms surround Arthur's waist, and Arthur gulps down the water because he really doesn't want to talk.

“Darling, tell me what's wrong,” Eames says. He's got his chin resting on Arthur's shoulder and he's nuzzling Arthur's neck with his nose. “I can't read your mind, you know.”

Arthur snorts and shakes his head as he puts down the empty glass. “Funny, I thought forgers were good at that sort of thing,” he says bitterly.

“Okay, enough,” Eames says and spins him around. He presses Arthur back against the counter, but keeps his hands around Arthur's waist to cushion it from the sharp edges. “Talk to me.”

Arthur turns his head to the side and refuses to make eye contact. “It's nothing,” he says. He hates this. Hates the confused look on Eames' face, hates the serpentine twisting in his gut, hates the way he wants to spill his secrets to Eames, even though he's not sure Eames actually wants those secrets.

Eames is the one to snort now, openly mocking him. “You know I'm not an idiot, so don't try to treat me as such. 'Nothing' wouldn't cause you to walk off in the middle of mind-blowing sex. 'Nothing' wouldn't make you look like someone just kicked your dog. Tell me what I did wrong, because apparently, I did something you didn't like.”

Arthur clenches his jaw and stares at the painting on his living room wall over Eames' shoulder.

Eames isn't having this. He pulls Arthur's face around by his chin until he's forced to look at Eames. “Was I too rough with you? Did I hurt you?” he asks, concern mixing with frustration and confusion.

Arthur shakes his head and jerks his face away from Eames' hand. “No,” he says.

Eames waits a beat. Then he waits longer. Then, finally, he begs, “Tell me.”

Arthur sighs miserably and buries his face in Eames' chest. “Do you really think I'm a slut?” he asks quietly. It pains him to ask, but he has to know.

There's silence above him. Eames is obviously trying to find a tactful way to say yes. Arthur tries to pull away, but Eames won't let him. He hears a whispered expletive, and then Eames is gripping his arms and urging him to look at him. “Arthur, do you really have to ask?” he replies, looking surprised and a little bit sad.

“Yeah, I do,” he presses.

“Why would you... wait, because of what I said during sex?” Eames asks.

Arthur shrugs and swallows the stomach bile climbing up his throat. “You wouldn't be the first one,” he says bitterly.

Eames' mouth is agape and he looks absolutely stunned. “Someone called you a slut?” he asks dumbly.

Arthur pulls away from him and crosses his arms across his chest. He's shivering a bit, so Eames goes to the living room and pulls the throw from the back of the couch. He returns to wrap it around Arthur's shoulders, but doesn't make a move to hold him again. Arthur looks down at the floor and tries to calm down. “When I was in high school, I fooled around with a lot of guys. It was all secret or whatever, because none of them wanted people to know they were fucking around with another guy.”

“Go on,” Eames encourages, no judgment in his tone.

“So...anyway, when I went to college, I kept fooling around with guys, but this time nobody kept it a secret. I started to get a reputation, I guess. Then, in my junior year, I met Matt.” Arthur gnaws on the inside of his bottom lip and doesn't see anything except swirls of color from the small rug beneath his bare feet.

“What happened?” Eames asks.

Arthur closes his eyes, as if to see into the past better. “I kind of fell in love with him. He was everything I wanted: tall, gorgeous, funny, smart. He liked me, too. He was really fucking good in bed, and I always wanted it...always wanted him, but then he heard some stuff about me.”

Eames is quiet, waiting patiently.

“I told him how I felt, told him I only wanted him, but he didn't care. He was pissed...called me 'the village bicycle' or some shit. Then he started calling me out on always wanting to have sex. I tried to defend myself, but he wasn't listening. He said – he said that he was going to break up with me so that I could be as slutty as I wanted without him getting in the way.”

There was a look of barely suppressed disgust on Eames' face. “Arthur. Arthur, listen to me, okay? You're not a slut for enjoying sex.”

Arthur gives a dismissive shrug. “Yeah, sure.”

Eames grips his upper arms and shakes him a bit. “What I said...what I said in bed is just talk. It's in the heat of the moment, something to add to the experience. I don't think you're a slut at all.”

“Then why would you say it?” Arthur asks in disbelief.

Eames appears to consider this, truly consider it before he answers. He pulls Arthur away from the counter and slowly turns him around before dragging him back up against him, back to chest. Arthur lets him do this, but he's still stiff and unresponsive. “Eames –”

“No, listen, sweetheart. I want you to think about this: imagine I'm spread out beneath you, all wet and open and ready to fuck. Think about how I'll look up at you, begging you to fill me up with your cock...”

Arthur's getting a bit hot, and Eames knows it. He slides his hand down to wrap around Arthur's dick and bites his neck. “I think about you all the time. Not just when it comes to sex, but when I do...I like to imagine I'm the only one who gets to see you like that. There's something so seductive, so potent about watching you, seeing how much you enjoy yourself. It's so hedonistic, it's glorious. You're gorgeous.”

He's slowly jacking Arthur and breathing into his ear, obviously waiting for Arthur to respond. “Umm...”

Eames' chuckle is low and rough. “You can be slutty with me, Arthur. I _want_ you to be slutty when you're with me. I don't want you to hold back, to deny yourself – or me – when we're together. Just give into what you want. I won't ever judge you, because I want whatever you want. I'll be your slut, too.”

And fuck if that isn't hot. Arthur is hard and panting now. Their skin is damp where they're pressed together, and he wants to see Eames' face, but Eames' hand on his cock just feels so good...

“Can you do that, Arthur? Can you be slutty for me?” Eames whispers seductively in his ear.

Arthur shudders and lets his eyes close against the flash of heat he feels. “Yeah,” he croaks.

“Yeah?” Eames asks.

“...Yeah.”

“Good.” Eames lets him go and steps back.

Arthur turns and sees the open honesty on Eames' face. Without another word, he reaches out for his hand and leads Eames back to the bedroom.


End file.
